


goodnight mamorthod

by Nihil



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem 外伝 | Fire Emblem Gaiden, Fire Emblem: Shin Monshou no Nazo | Fire Emblem: New Mystery of the Emblem
Genre: OC centric, being remus is suffering, familial angst i guess, maybe later in the background, no ships for now, or i'll just give up and write solely fluff, set in archanea but heavy valentian influences in there, some canons but they're old, the rks references stay, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-20 18:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30009324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nihil/pseuds/Nihil
Summary: "i killed a man there and when he died, you took his place"or: remus' journey across the continent to find and kill his brother.
Kudos: 1





	goodnight mamorthod

**Author's Note:**

> s'my first time really attempting a story with a narrative, hoping it turned out okay! if you wanna ask about the story or just scream about fe with me, twitter's @moonscoral. ty for reading, hope you enjoy!

“Mars!”

His father’s choked gasp broke him his daze, and Remus’ head snapped up suddenly. It was still unsettling, even two days in. His father spoke strongly, his voice deep and booming, and here, he sounded so weak, as if every word spoken came at a great cost to him. 

He rose from his chair, strode hurriedly across the stone floor of the room, until he was beside his father’s bed, staring down at his pale face, slicked with sweat. 

His father stared up at him, dark eyes bloodshot, lips almost colorless, the monk in the corner watching them fading into the background.

“Father,” Remus started, made sure his voice was low and steady, tried to not hint at the way his guts were currently coiling in on themselves. 

His father was quiet for seconds that dragged, still stared at him, his mouth a line, and Remus was wondering if he was just going to let himself pass back out, deem words for his runt a waste of his flagging strength. 

Then finally, he spoke. 

“Remus…” He began, trailing and quiet. “Where is Mars?” 

Remus’ brows furrowed. “I don’t know, father. He left after...he left you like this. He told no one where he was going.” 

His father processed his words, and there was something in his eyes that was familiar and alien all the same. It was the eyes Remus saw reflected in his blade when he stared down a man he was intending to kill, fearful and uncertain, a prelude to trembling and hesitation. He had never seen it in his father’s face before. He had prioritized always appearing strong, always certain, had never let something like that flit across his features, especially in the face of someone like Remus. 

“..I see.” There was a discontent there. “Where is Romulus?” 

Remus sighed. “With Mars gone and you bedridden, she’s assumed the throne as regent. I can’t tell you where she is right now.” 

His father was shifting, trying to force himself up. Remus reached out with a hand, braced it against his shoulder, pushed him back down. Another damning sign of the state his father was in, that he simply let Remus push him back down to the mattress, settled on glaring weakly up at him. 

“Father, you should save your strength. Rest, please.” 

He met his father’s glare, kept his gaze as even as he could, he would be damned if he let his father see weakness in what could possibly his last moments with him. His father seemed like he was contemplating words, probably to curse him for his audacity, but he took a shuddering breath. 

“ _Fool_.” Was all he said, then his eyes closed again. 

Remus watched him, for a moment then a minute, then exhaled sharply. He strode back to his chair, and settled into it heavily. 

He stared at his father’s bed, stayed like that for however long, he didn’t know, until his eyes drifted close and he slept. 

* * *

When he slept, Remus remembered. 

He had been a little more than a child, somewhere just north of thirteen, and he had been returning from the fields that flanked the walls of their kingdom. His knees were scrapped raw, and his shoulder was hurting, sore underneath the weight of his old lance that he trained with. 

Going through the courtyard, to their keep proper, he had seen Mars. It was rare to see him, especially in those days, when he was gone more often than not. His stays at home only reached days at most at that point. He would come in from work that took him around the continent, receive more work and resupply, then he would be gone again. 

Sometimes he would spare time for him and Romulus, but that was rare, fleeting. What little time he gave, he gave most of it to Romulus. He had always been closer to her, Remus had always known that. He had helped raise her when her father had been at war. Remus had come afterwards, after his father’s war effort ended, and by that time, Mars had already started to leave. 

He remembered greeting his brother with a grin that spanned his whole face, his eyes alight, and his brother giving him that little small half smile that never seemed to reach his eyes, eyes that were always perpetually cool. There was always something off about that, he could see that even when he was young. 

He had joyfully exclaimed how glad he was to see him, had waggled his lance, talked about how powerful he had gotten. He wasn’t sure he had been expecting from his brother. 

Praise? He had always wanted that. He rarely ever heard anything. It was always “acceptable” or “you’re not as good as Mars” or “by the time Mars was ten, he was better than you”. It was always Mars, Mars was the peak, his father reminded him of that, his father’s men reminded him of that.

Conversation with his brother, to spend time with him? He had always wanted that too. Their interactions were too few, and he knew so little. What he knew he had learned from his father, from his father’s men who had trained with Mars, or from his sister, who had that time with their brother, when they were younger and Mars considered Mamorthod more this home than a temporary rest stop. 

He had gotten neither. Mars had simply nodded, gave some uttering that was lost in a sudden gust of wind, and he had been on his way. Remus’ teacher had cuffed him in the back of his head after that, chided him from wasting time. 

Remus had felt his heart drop somewhere in his stomach after that, had felt like he wanted to cry, but that was okay, that was normal. He simply wiped his tears before anyone could see and kept his head high, forced his mouth to be a hard line and not wobble how it wanted to. 

Crying was weakness, weakness was a waste of time. If he wanted Mars to greet him, wanted his father to see him, then he would have to become strong.

It was what everyone told him, and it was what he would do. 

* * *

Shouts and gasps and thudding footsteps brought him back to reality, and he shot up from his chair, took in the monks that surrounded his father’s bed. 

His eyes widened briefly, before he made them narrow, kept his mouth straight, and walked forward, so he could see his father. 

He was still pale, still gleaming with sweat, and his mouth was open, but there was no rattle of breath. His eyes flicked down, saw no rising of his father’s chest, and it felt like his heart was trying to escape out his throat. 

One monk checked pulse, while another reached out with hands wreathed in soft light, doing Duma knew what, and a third tugged at his sleeve, leaned forward to whisper into his ear to not disturb the one working magic. 

“Prince Remus, please leave.” 

He loathed to do it, but Remus nodded his assent, and turned on a heel, exited while more monks poured in. 

He stood out there, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed across his chest, waiting. 

Romulus joined him sometime later, stood across from him, her features carefully impassive, though he wagered he knew what was going through her mind. She was worried for their father, of course, conflicted on what to do about their brother. It was a harsh process, balancing the image of the murderer of their father against the older brother who had looked over her when she was younger with that smile. He had been told by her that it sometimes reached his eyes, when they were alone. 

She’d never let that show, not here and not now. She was to inherit the throne, it was important to showcase strength through all phases. 

They regarded one another, a moment of silence stretching between them, then she finally spoke. 

“Did you talk to him?” There was a certain ragged quality to her voice, but it was steady. She was tired, undoubtedly, like him, had been working herself to death these past couple of days. 

He blinked, rubbed at his eye with the back of his hand, suddenly reminded of how they were trending towards starting to burn. 

“I did. Not much different.” His voice was soft. “He asked about Mars, again. Then he asked about you.” _But never you_ , some small treacherous voice spoke in the back of his head. He fought the urge to scowl, stomped down on that. Now wasn’t the time for childish sentiments to rear their head. 

“He tried to get up, but I managed to get him to rest.” 

Romulus took in his words silently, then nodded, settled back against the wall. He did the same, and they stayed like that for long minutes, until one of the monks broke through the door, their face pale, a tremble in their legs that reached their voice in how shaky it came out. 

“P-Princess Romulus, P-Prince Remus, your father, the king…” They trailed off, seemed unsure how to deliver the news. He could already feel his stomach dropping, body going suddenly cold while Romulus stepped forward and spoke, her voice coming sharp. 

“Speak.” 

“....The king is dead.” 

It hit him like a punch to the gut, it was harder to breathe all of a sudden, and his eyes were burning all the more, and his knees weren’t doing what they were supposed to do, suddenly going shaky. 

Dammit, he couldn’t do this _now,_ especially in front of Romulus. 

“I see,” She said, and her voice was quiet, but still clear. She had taken the blow without flinching. “You’re dismissed.” 

The monk nodded, and he was grateful when she rushed off back to the room, left them alone, not around to bear witness to this. Romulus faced him, and he faced her, and her features were still carefully cleared. 

Though when she spoke again, there was a note of softness there. Only for him, only for this moment. “Go rest. I’ll take care of this.” 

He wanted to protest, declare that he could face this, but he could feel tears prickling at the corners of his eyes and his breaths were starting to get labored, so he nodded, mouthed thank you, and turned on a heel, and started to walk. 

Each step carried him faster and faster down long halls, until near the end he was just about jogging. He encountered no one, thankfully, and when he shut the door to his small room on the second level, he couldn’t stop himself anymore. 

The tears were coming hard, and he loathed himself for that, for being so damnably weak that he couldn’t face this head on, loathed the brother that took their father and left him like that. 

It came, suddenly and savagely, spurned him to lash out, drive his knuckles into the wood of his bookcase next to him. His knuckles were stinging, but the pain was good, helped ground him, sort of. 

“Damn you, Mars.” He spat the name.

* * *

They burned his father’s body two days later in the courtyard. 

Specific burial rites didn’t exist in the Faithful, but their father had always been adamant that a body should be burnt, to not leave a corpse to serve as the base for dark magics that could be used by the Faithful’s enemies. 

He had looked peaceful, when they laid him on the pyre. Clad in rough robes, his beard had been oiled and combed, curling at the edges, and his head freshly waxed, had gleamed in the sunlight. There were no signs of the weakness that struck him in his last moments, of the violence that had left him like that, and Remus was grateful. 

To appear like that, devoid of any dignity, he would have hated it with his whole heart. 

Remus stood with Romulus, in a balcony above the courtyard, where their people gathered around the pyre, some ten meters away at all points, watched as flames hit the wood and his father’s body go up in flame. He had stood there with her, watched it burn with her. 

The sun was high overhead, rose a sweat on his body, made him all the more aware of the chill that had set in his bones, how tired he was. He had dignity enough to not let this show on his face, kept his gaze level and his mouth a hard line throughout it all.

He wouldn’t shame his father in his death. 

* * *

Romulus’ coronation came days later, almost a week.

She sat on their father’s old throne, carved from rough stone, and he stood at her side, while their head priestess, Lupa, ascended the steps and presented her with the crown. 

Her eyes were bloodshot and bags ringed her eyes, but her gaze was hard and her mouth was level, and she inclined her head, accepted the crown with all the grace and dignity that one would expect from their future ruler. 

When Lupa descended down the steps, to join the gathered priests and knights and nobles kneeling on the floor, Remus fell to his knee, bowed his head to her, while she rose from the throne and loomed over everyone. 

He felt her eyes flick towards him, then towards the assembled people, and when she spoke, her voice was booming. 

“Like my father before me and his father before him, I accept both crown and throne. Underneath Duma’s ever present gaze, I will lead you. My strength shall not wane and my hand will be firm. I will lead you greater than those before me, I promise you.” 

She took a breath, the room silent, waiting for her to continue, none would dare interrupt her now. 

“My first decree is this: for his murder of our my father and king, I declare Mars both traitor and kingkiller.” 

Remus’ guts knotted and he felt something kindle there, some embers that lent heat to his body. He had waited for this, thought about it in the dark hours of the night, when he laid in his room, unable to sleep. 

She would give the word now, order for his head, and he would jump to answer that call. His father’s murder would not go unavenged, he would not fail him in this. 

“He is our greatest enemy and he shall be marked as much. Under no circumstances are you to approach him. Should you see him, flee on sight.” 

Then suddenly, his blood went cold, and his brows furrowed, and those embers found fuel, became flames that made his brows furrow and made him want to cry out, but he refrained. 

“To confront him would be death. He has already shed enough of my people’s blood. I will not allow him to waste the lives of more. Am I understood?” 

She wasn’t, but he still joined the chorus of “Yes, my queen!” that rang from those before her, prompted her to incline her head ever-so-slightly in a nod. 

“Good. Then make sure my edict is heard throughout my kingdom.” 

Another “Yes, my queen!” that he joined while his heart burned. When he finally stood with the rest, she sat upon her throne, while her advisers approached her. He caught her eye, and there was something in his gaze that let her know he would address this with her later. 

For now, he busied himself with interacting with the various knights and nobles who approached him and her, offering condolences and congratulations and pledges of fealty, careful to keep his neutral through it all. 

* * *

He finally caught her hours later, in the study that used to be their father’s, made sure to let the Terrors at the door know they weren’t to be disturbed before he closed it. 

She was looking down at one of their father’s old books, leather bound and the pages yellowed with age. She took a moment to finish reading a section, before she closed it, put it on the small table beside the plush armchair, and looked up at him. 

“Romulus,” He said, and he couldn’t help it, there was heat to his voice and his brows were starting to furrow. 

She sighed, waved a hand for him to continue. 

“You can’t just let him run free. He has to face justice.” 

She looked at him, let herself raise a brow. “And who would bring him to justice? You know as well as I do who he is.” 

She was right, of course, she was always right. He was strong, stronger than their dad, stronger than both of them. But that didn’t mean he could just walk in, murder their father, and get away with it! 

“You and I could do it. We could rally our men, field troops after him, hunt him down.” 

“So I should potentially throw away my life, your life, and the lives of our men, on the small chance that we do manage to defeat him and bring him to be executed?” Her tone was clipped, sharp. “I can’t do that, Remus.” 

She sighed, and her voice came out softer when she continued, the lines on her forehead becoming prominent when her brows furrowed. She looked tired, more tired than she had been on the throne today. “I hate that man with my whole heart, don’t mistake that, to let him walk free after murdering our father, the idea kills me.” 

“ _But_ I am Queen now. I have to look beyond myself, to the good of my people. I cannot leave them without a ruler, and I cannot justify throwing away their lives on this. I’ve done all I can.” 

He glared at her, tried to find words, and he couldn’t. She was right, again. Any protests that he would manage would be childish, easily shot down by her. 

So, instead, he took a long breath then exhaled through his nose. “Yes. My Queen.” The words came out with strain, forcefully untouched by his heat that was threatening to burn him, and she knew that, but didn’t comment on it. She made her face into something impassive again, and beckoned him to the door, to let him know he was dismissed. 

He turned on a heel, and opened it, strode past the terrors, footsteps falling heavily in his ears on the stone. 

It was decided then. 

If she wouldn’t hunt him down, then he would do it himself. 

Mars would die by his hands, or he would die trying. 

His father deserved no less. 


End file.
